Consequence
by only-because3
Summary: She rests against my chest, eyes shut, her hair messy, and hands balled up into fists. She looks like him. That fact alone makes me feel better, makes all this a little easier.
1. Chapter 1

I'm not particularly happy with this piece. I feel like there's more story here, something more to tell but I haven't quite figured out what it is yet. So, I'm posting this to see what kind of reaction it gets and see perhaps where you all would like to see it go (I have two possible ideas but one seems almost too much for me to write). I'm never sure if I'm writing Quinn corectly so I hope I did her justice with this one. Reviews on this would be wonderful. Enjoy!

* * *

She's beautiful.

Pale white skin and dark brown hair, blue eyes hiding underneath her eyelids. I'm sure those won't stay. Supposedly all babies are born with blue eyes. I wonder if that's where the color got its name.

She has ten fingers, ten toes, two arms, and two legs. She's perfect; a perfect bundle born into a broken mess.

Everyone at McKinley High School will know her; might not know her name, probably won't know her by looking at her, but they'll all know _of_ her.

The bastard child of Quinn Fabray (when they say my name they'll probably snicker or role their eyes) and Noah Puckerman (they'll gasp when they hear his name because for the longest time he wasn't the father). She'll never escape that title at McKinley High.

She rests against my chest, eyes shut, her hair messy, and hands balled up into fists. She looks like him. That fact alone makes me feel better, makes all this a little easier.

Soon, she'll start crying and a nurse will tell me I need to feed her. That's the last thing I'll do for her before I give her away.

Nobody knows she's here and it's almost better this way. They don't have the option of getting attached like I already have.

The guilt is already creeping into my deflated stomach.

At 3:07 pm on March 29th, my little girl is officially one day old. I kiss her forehead softly and breathe in deep, trying to commit her smell to my memory.

I blink rapidly to keep my tears at bay when the nurse comes in, expectant parents of my daughter behind her.

I fake a smile and pass the baby to her mom.

My heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest.

At 4:07 pm on March 29th, I sit alone in a bleak hospital room. My blonde hair is dirty with sweat, my chest leaking milk that was produced for nothing. My body hurts and I'm so tired and I absently reach for the cross that's laid against my chest since I was 11. It's not there. I gave it to the little girl I gave birth to yesterday. The girl I'm not allowed to call my daughter.

I sniff to myself, bringing my hands up to my face. I rest my head in my hands as the tears start before I can stop them.

* * *

I walk the halls of my high school one week later.

Everyone's chatting with their friends at their lockers about how great spring break was.

When I pass them, nobody notices.

When I pass Puck, he grabs my arm and suddenly everyone realizes I'm not as big as when I left.

Noah Puckerman is the big man on campus. He's a football star, notorious badass (the title still held even after he joined New Directions), and the guy that every girl wanted to sleep with (all the hot ones already have). To put it simply, he's a man's man who acts like he's the shit.

Today, Noah Puckerman screams at me in the middle of the hallway. He calls me a bitch and a liar and I expected these insults. He has every right to be mad at me. I gave away his daughter.

(He doesn't see that I did this for him, that I did it for all three of us. We can't raise a baby. I'm not stupid; I know that love isn't enough of a reason to keep someone. One day though, he'll thank me because this would have ruined our lives.

She already ruined mine.)

But then, something happens. He starts choking on his words and tears start pouring down his red face. He asks how I could do it. How I could be so _heartless_ and just give her away without even letting him see her and hold her, just _once_.

I wish he would stop crying and start yelling at me again. It'd be so much easier if he was mad; I can't handle him being completely _heartbroken._

I take a step forward, reaching out to touch him, comfort him.

He quickly steps back.

He shakes his head and wipes away his tears with his arm. He opens his mouth, almost says something more but stops.

"I don't know who you are."

He walks away.

I have to run to the nearest bathroom. I throw up until it's nothing but dry heaves and my throat burns.

Tears are flowing down my cheeks at an alarming rate.

I can't breathe. I can't swallow.

I feel like I'm dying slowly.

* * *

Feedback, please?


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone. So, I'm insanely nervous about this part as well, just because it came out less angsty than I thought. But I do have a general idea as to where I'm going to take this. I'm not going to make it super long (probably only 5 chapters, maybe less) but I do hope that you guys trust me with this story. I feel like I may be taking it to a weird place but I think I can make it work. Anyway, this is sort of a personal chapter. I've semi based the end bit on what happened my senior year and during my senior presentation though I've made some tweaks (as I've never had a baby nor have I met a Noah Puckerman lol). Okay, enough rambling! Enjoy!

* * *

I don't think anyone thought I'd actually give her away.

I'd teetered on the edge of insanity, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.

I wanted to keep her. To raise my little girl and see her grow, to hear her call me mom. I love her so much more that I thought I could love someone.

I can't give her the future I want her to have though. I want her in a loving home and I want her to get everything she dreams of.

I can't do that for her. I _really_ want to but I'm 16, jobless, and practically homeless.

Puck would've helped but I think I'd hate myself if I was the reason we were condemned to Lima.

In all my classes, people stare. I'm a shell of something they never thought they'd see: a broken, fat disgusting (my boobs still haven't stopped leaking and sometimes I leak so much I get horrible wet stains on the front of my shirts) Quinn Fabray. It makes some of the prettier girls happy because now boys will pay attention to them (even when I was pregnant the boys would still prefer me over them. But now I've hit bottom and they've one upped me). Mostly though, I'll get looks of pity and confusion (sad that I had to do what I did but confused as to why I did it if this was what I was going to turn out like).

They shouldn't pity me. I've made my bed.

Only problem is, I can't find it in myself to lie in it.

Mr. Schue (he's the only teacher that stares at me as much as the other kids do) pulls me aside one day after Spanish. I haven't been to Glee in over a week and I can't seem to pay attention in class. He looks at me hesitantly before asking what he really means by asking me to stay after class. "Who did you find to take her?" He doesn't look at me when the words leave his mouth.

We never really talked about my deal with Terri. He only told me that he knew and didn't know what else to say.

I tell him that I found a nice family who live a couple cities over. "You're the only person in Lima I would've been willing to give her to. You're the only one who isn't a Lima loser." I shrug slightly and he gives me a sad smile.

He doesn't ask me how I'm doing because it's obvious. I'm not doing okay at all. I can't sleep (I don't even have a freaking home to sleep in. I've been sleeping on the mattress Mr. Schue used when he left his wife. It's back stage in the auditorium now and no one ever goes back there.) because every time I close my eyes all I can see is her face and I can't stop myself from breaking down into tears.

God, I really need to stop that. I made the right choice, I _know_ I did. I gave my daughter a wonderful life. I need to stop being sad that I can't be the one to give her a good life.

I take in a deep shaky breath and ask if that's all he wanted to talk to me about. He nods and I start to walk away when he says one last thing. "I'm proud of you Quinn." I turn on my heel, my blonde hair which seems so much darker now flying over my shoulders when I look at him.

"Why," I ask, my voice shaky because once again I feel like crying. He has no reason to be proud of me.

"It takes a lot to do what you did… Your daughter will be thanking you one day." It's sweet but makes me sad because I doubt I'll ever see her again. "If you ever need anything, just ask."

I fake a small smile for the teacher (it's all I can manage to do right now) and then walk out of the room.

* * *

By junior year, my life's straightened out a bit. My parents took me back and we pretend like all of sophomore year didn't happen. I try not to think of her but everyday my mind somehow trails to what she looks like now, if she's happy, if she's safe.

I don't get looked at much anymore. I'm just another face among the crowd. I only stay in New Directions until they can find a 12th person. It's too hard to be in there now. I haven't spoken to Puck since the day after spring break last year and Finn barely looks in my direction. Everyone else is semi supportive but it's hard. They aren't sure what they can bring up and what they can't, or if they should mention anything at all. It's hard to talk to me though without bringing up the baby.

Junior year passes rather slowly (sophomore year seemed to go by so quickly. One minute I'm sleeping with Puck, the next I'm the childless social outcast) and I stay in Glee until right before Nationals (we're going a second year in a row. I'm proud of them but I just can't find it in myself to be apart of them anymore). They find some new freshman to join and when I meet her I tell her she's going to make a lot of memories in the club. "They'll become like your family," I say before I walk out of the music room forever.

Eventually though, senior year begins and as I'm doing my senior project, I realize I don't have much to show for my four years at McKinley High. Yeah, I was captain of the Cheerios for two years (not even a full second year…) and was a member of Glee (we actually got some slight respect when we won Nationals) but these last two years… nothing. I look through old yearbooks in the library and tear up a bit when I see my extended belly.

I cry less now. I think I'm more content with my decision but it still hurts. I wish everything could have been different.

When I give my senior presentation to a panel of three teachers, I dress professionally because we're supposed to. I wear a black pencil skirt and a yellow shirt I found in the back of my closet (I haven't worn it since I was pregnant; it used to hide my belly when I was too ashamed for the world to see my sin). Mrs. White (Panel member number 1 and one of the college counselors. She's always been nice to me. Most kids call her a bitch but frankly, I think I'd be okay if I grew up to be like her) tells me I look pretty and I smile politely in response.

I go through trivial things, showing them my awards and accomplishments (again, it's not much) and what not before I move on to my personal statement. It's then that for the first time in two years I mention my baby out loud. I tell them that everything I'm going to do once I graduate will be for my daughter because I can't amount to nothing. I don't want my daughter to think her mom's a loser, even if she'll never meet me.

I talk about how I feel like I've ruined Noah Puckerman's life, even though I tried with all my might not to. (Finn talks to me again; not as much and not in the same way, but he doesn't blame me anymore. That went away the day he found me crying in the auditorium on the mattress that had become my home.) I tell them I gave away _our_ baby to save us but it seems that it back fired a little. "We're both better now, or at least I think he's better now… we don't talk at all but he looks better. We both look better than we did at the end of sophomore year…"

I talk about my parents and how my relationship with them has been strained ever since I got pregnant and how now when they say they're proud of me (I'm finishing this year off with a 4.5 and going off to UCLA in the fall) there's always a hitch in their voice, a look in their eyes that tells me they can never be completely proud of me. "I'm their damned daughter… I can repent all I want but I'll always be damned in their eyes." When I say that Mr. Woods (Panel member number two; he's in charge of detention. I've only ever encountered him two times in my four years. Each time I'd been scared shitless by the tall bald man) hangs his head, shaking it softly.

Finally though, I talk about my new found relationship and outlook on God. "I was always taught to be a good Christian daughter. To pray to the Lord and thank him for all the wonderful things he gave me, like my health, my family, and the materialistic things he provided. I was told that if I sinned I had to be truly sorry for it and confess. I was told that if I did that, then God would love me again. Yet, when I sinned, when I got pregnant, and I told my parents how sorry I was for it, they put me out on the street. I was a disappointment that could not be looked at. I, their pregnant teenage daughter, was the biggest piece of shame in their lives. When I left their house, I was mad. God didn't protect me. He left me without my parents when I needed them the most.

But then one day, I was walking down the street, and I passed by that little church on 65th. You know, that one with the two mini billboards? And they always have different quotes on it. Well, it was a pretty dark day, it looked like it was going to rain and I had stopped at the crosswalk across the street and I read the billboard facing me. 'The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even when we have rebelled against him.'" I smile. "That was the first time I felt her kick. And as crazy as it was, the clouds just sort of… went off and the sun came out." I run my hands nervously over my skirt, smoothing it out even though it lies flat against my legs. "It was probably just a weird weather fluke but I couldn't help but think that that was my sign. That as long as I still trusted him, He would help me through everything." I go on to mention how even though I was homeless for a portion of my sophomore year, I still went to church because I needed something to believe in. I needed the reassurance that this wasn't just some cruel joke; that we were put on this earth with a purpose and that I was valuable; that I wasn't cast aside because I had a baby before I was married.

"I still doubt Him sometimes. When things don't go the way I'd like them to or when I start thinking that I've made a horrible decision by giving away my baby. But then, I take a step back and remember how during my darkest hour He helped me push through." I stop talking and duck my head down now. A lump has formed in my throat and my eyes start to fill up with tears.

Ms. Starks (Panel member number 3; I'm not quite sure what her job is but she always seems like she has a stick up her ass. She's one of the other ones I had come to fear over my four years. When ever she'd talk to me, she'd ask me what my name is. "Be happy I don't have it memorized," she'd tell me.) is the first to speak.

"I've seen a lot of senior presentations over the years," she begins, readjusting her gold wire frame glasses. "And a lot of them have been more personal than I think the teachers and students expected." She stops again and I swallow hard. "But I don't think that any of them have gotten to the point where they are so personal that I can't even speak. You have shared every bit of yourself with us and you really didn't have to. You could've spouted off some crap that barely scratched the surface and saved yourself this semi emotional breakdown. But you really gave it everything. You put your all into this and I'd just like to congratulate you for it. You're a wonderful person Quinn Fabray and you deserve to be 100 percent proud of yourself."

Mr. Woods and Mrs. White nod next to her, both spouting off similar things and when I go to leave, Mrs. White stands up and hugs me.

Later, I do cry again. It's a happy cry this time though.

* * *

There's a party the night before graduation. A bunch of the seniors are going over to the park off of Alhambra and I go because it's my last hurrah. I feel out of place but some of the glee kids are there and they come up and talk to me so I don't feel like such a loner. I'm laughing (I don't think I can remember when I last laughed) and I really thank God for these kids. Artie's making a joke about what Mr. Schue did today in Spanish (Kurt sets up what happened in the class so I don't just blankly stare at Artie because I won't get it without the back story) and it's then that I see Puck across the lawn. He's looking at me and I bite my lip.

Kurt whispers into my ear, "He's leaving for San Diego State in July." He nudges my shoulder. "You can't leave so much unsaid."

I agree with him but I honestly wish I didn't. There's a reason we haven't spoken in two and a half years. We're not over what happened (not deep down anyway) because if we were, we would have already had this talk.

Kurt nudges me again and I start to walk across the green grass.

* * *

Good? Bad? Feedback is appreciated and loved :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Here's a small little update. I figure I should have this story finished by the end of the year (but I wouldn't hold me to that. Inspiration can disappear in an instant). Really hope you enjoy this chapter since I'm super nervous about this one (then again I'm nervous about the whole story lol). Enjoy!

* * *

"Puck," I say wearily. He just stares at me, taking a drink of the beer in his hand. His mohawk's grown out quite a bit and he runs his free hand over it tiredly.

"What do you want Fabray?" He says my name like it's an insult.

I push my hair over my shoulder, looking down at the grass below me, spreading my toes only to curl them down. I notice how intently he watches me before I look back up at him. Then he looks away. "We should talk…"

He shakes his head, now trying to look at everything but me. He takes another drink. "After tomorrow, I don't have to see you or look at you ever again. This "talk" isn't needed."

He tries to walk away but I catch his arm. He shrugs my hand off and I move to stand in front of him. "You may not have to look at me but I _know_ you'll think of me," I tell him. I don't mean it in a cocky way at all; if our daughter means as much to him as she does to me, then he thinks about her all the time. And I can't possibly think about her without thinking about him, so it would only make sense that he'd think about me when the thought about her… right?

He looks even more pissed off now. "You know what, you're right. I'll think about how much I fucking _hate_ you," he spits and I cringe. His words are like a knife slicing through my skin. I deserve everything he has to dish though.

My hand trails up to my neck where a new silver cross lies. It doesn't give the same protection that my old one did. He stares at me again, watches as my hand hangs idle against my collarbone. His lips twitch and I know he wants to ask what happened to my old necklace. He won't ask though because he really never wants to talk to me again. "I didn't do it to hurt you," I say quietly and he glares at me.

"Well, that didn't really work out did it?" I glance around at all of the people surrounding us, all of them happy and smiling and I almost think about walking away. Just letting this go and living without having this conversation for the rest of my life. But if we're supposed to be closing this chapter of our lives tomorrow this conversation needs to happen.

He turns to walk away, tossing his now empty beer into the trashcan, the bottle breaking once it hits the metal bottom. "Puck," I call but he just shakes his head. I follow him with my eyes for a while, watch as he grabs a beer and then heads off toward his truck.

I can't let this go.

I jog across the grass, my flip-flops clacking against my heels, managing to reach the boy I have so much, yet so little history with. "Please just hear me out," I plead with him and he shakes his head.

"I don't want to be here anymore," he says, walking around the car and sliding into his truck. I open the passenger side door and sit on the seat.

"Then we can talk somewhere else," I say, arching my eyebrow slightly. He no longer has the option to not hear me. He furrows his brow and curses under his breath but starts the engine anyway when I shut my door.

* * *

I'm not sure why he decided to bring me here if he hated me so much. It's late and we have to be quite and I'm almost thankful for that. That means he can't yell at me.

We creep down the stairs, into the basement below his house. I haven't been here since the night I got pregnant.

He sits down on the edge of the old couch and I stand awkwardly behind him.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

I take a shaky breath and then it all just comes out like word vomit. The Quinn Fabray that used to speak with precision and eloquence now gone. "We couldn't have kept her. We were too young and we had about no money to our names and everything was working against us. And when I went into labor, I panicked and I knew that if anyone else saw her, I wouldn't be able to do it. I wouldn't have been able to give her to her family that already loved her as much as I did. And God, Puck. She was so beautiful. So perfect that it hurt _so_ much." I have to stop and look up at the ceiling (there's a crack that stems from the wall behind me) so that my tears will stay locked away.

He's facing me now and I meet his eyes because I owe him that much. "She had your hair… it was curly and dark brown. And she had blue eyes and my nose. She had ten fingers and ten toes and she just looked so much like you… If you had seen her, you wouldn't have let her go. We would've been stuck here Noah. We wouldn't be going off to California and we'd probably hate each other more than we do right now." I bring my hand up and wipe my nose, my fingers moving to brush away the tears that are now streaming down my face.

There is no holding back my tears when it comes to her.

"And I know you don't agree with what I did and I know I could have done everything different and I'm sorry. I really need you to believe that. I am _so_ sorry." I open my mouth to continue but nothing else comes out. There's a lump in my throat and I know there's so much more I can say but I can't. Instead, the only think my body will allow me to do is cry and shake.

I don't realize he's moved until I feel his arms wrap around me. I cry into his shirt, soaking it through and it's then that I feel his tears hitting my head. I pull back and slowly bring my hands up to his face, wiping away the tears that are on his tan cheeks. "I didn't want _this_ for us either. I never wanted you to hate me."

"I don't hate you." His voice is quiet and hesitant. "I've always understood why you did what you did… that doesn't mean that I wasn't mad at you though. I was fucking _livid_ when I saw you afterwards, never angry enough to hate you though. I've always understood why…" He repeats himself but I smile softly anyway.

I haven't been this close to him (or anyone) in such a long time. I look up at his face through my glossed over eyes and realizes just how much older he looks. He has tired eyes and his jaw looks stronger. There's little crows feet at the edges of his eyes (not enough for anyone else to notice, but I do) and I sigh. I'm probably the cause of all this aging that seems a little premature. "You look different," he says and I smile a little.

"I was thinking the same thing." He looks far better off than I do though. My whole body is different. My blonde hair's a little darker, my boobs a size bigger, and my hips a little wider. I always look like I'm lacking sleep now and I'm sure that's because I spent a whole year of my life in a sleepless mess.

Is it weird that I want to touch him? Is it just something about this house that makes me want to just give myself completely to him?

That's not a smart choice though. No matter how much I want to kiss him, touch him, taste him, I can't. We're graduating tomorrow and leaving this city forever. We'll probably never see each other again; this will be the end to our chapter.

I start to pull away from him but then something happens. His grip tightens around me and I tilt my head up to look at him and then it happens.

Just like it happened before, he leans down to kiss me and I meet his lips with mine. Then it all becomes such a blur that I can barely comprehend what's happening.

Its hands touching hands and lips skating across naked skin, leaving wet trails along our bodies. Clothes get discarded half hazerdly and we end up on the old couch that looks like it was first produced in the 1970s. He's on top of me and he's careful and gentle and this shouldn't be happening.

This isn't closing our chapter. This isn't smart (look at what happened the last time we did this).

But I don't stop it, just claw my nails into his back as he moves into me. I moan his name and when it's over he breathes my name into my ear.

It's a heaping mess of sweaty limbs and tired bodies and souls.

Unlike the first time, I don't leave and the cross around my neck no longer feels like a weight around my neck. I lay there the entire night, nude and underneath the blanket that Puck found for us. It's perfect and everything I wish we could have been had we not been so stupid and careless.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone! This is probably gong to be my last update of 2009! This year sure has been a BIG one for me and I hope it's memorable for all of you. There's going to be one more chapter of this (I'm super nervous about it by the way, more so than any other chapter of this story) and then that's it! I hope everyone has a fantastic and safe New Year's Eve. Enjoy!

* * *

College is fairly uneventful my first semester. People don't know me out here so they're more inclined to talk to me (they don't know I'm a girl who got pregnant at 16 and effectively fucked up numerous lives because of my extended belly) but I wouldn't say I've made friends. I spent the last two years content (not really) without anyone to call a friend that I suppose I'm just used to it.

I sit in the airport three days before Christmas (the winters out here are so unusual. I'm used to white Christmases not winters that have peeks of 68 degrees), legs crossed and hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. I shift in my seat uncomfortably (I don't know why I insisted on getting to the airport nearly four hours early) and flip through the glossy magazine in my hands. When I finish the (third) magazine I bought for the flight, I lift my head and look around the crowded airport.

For a second, I honestly don't think it's him. He's supposed to be a bunch of cities away from here. I think about picking up one of my magazines and burying my head in it so he won't see me but somehow his name falls from my lips. "Puck."

He turns on his heel, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His mohawk's gone, his head shaven now. He looks tanner and I suppose I'm tanner too (we get a lot of sun in California compared to Ohio).

He searches me out, not sure where the voice came from and I sit still in my seat, face hesitant to draw attention to myself. But his eyes eventually lock on me and he surprises me: he smiles.

I haven't talked to him since graduation. Actually, we didn't even really talk at graduation; my parents dragged me off before I had time to say something more than "Hi".

He walks over to me, sets his bag down in the seat beside me and asks me how I've been. I shrug. "Just busy with school… you headed home?"

He nods, runs a hand over his head.

We end up talking until the plane starts boarding and I really don't think anything of this. We're just two old friends who happened to run in to each other on our way home.

It's not till years down the line that I realize it was the start of everything.

* * *

I'm at my parents' house, surrounded by my family when my mom asks me about the smile on my face. "I've just been running into old friends left and right. It's nice seeing everyone again." My smile softens and I take a tray of rolls out of the oven.

It's the truth. I've been here for almost 4 days now and have run into a lot of the glee kids. I went shopping with Kurt and had lunch with Rachel and Finn (against my will). And then of course there's been Puck…

My father walks into the kitchen with heavy feet. "Quinn?" I face my dad and he looks at me with concerned eyes. "There's a boy for you at the door." He says the words 'boy' and 'you' with distrust. Neither of my parents trust me around the opposite sex anymore.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise as I nod, tossing the oven mitts on to the counter. I grab my new coat (it's a tan wool trench that will become useless when I get back to California) and slip it on before I open the door.

He's sitting on the old wooden swing that's been on my family's porch for as long as I can remember. "I'm surprised you'd even think of stepping on to my parents' porch," I say teasingly, my breath visible in the freezing morning air.

He shrugs with a small smile and I hope he knows how lucky he is that my parents never found out the truth. "Merry Christmas," he says, standing up with open arms.

I hug him without a second thought. "Happy Hanukkah," I return and we break apart. "What brings you over here so early?"

He sits back down then and starts to look nervous. "My mom sent me out for coffee this morning… and I'll never know why this little girl was out so early on Christmas morning with her dad…" He stops and lets out a heavy breath before looking down at his red hands. "She looked like us," he says quietly and I have to sit down next to him then. My face sort of falls and my knees weaken as I shake my head.

"That's… that's not possible," I say slowly and I'm so consumed by what Puck just said that I forget about being careful around him (I'm only careful because I know my parents are watching from the window). "They lived towns away…" I look down at my hands and pretend I'm calculating how old she is even though I could never forget her age. "And she's still so small… there's no way…"

He shakes his head. "She was small but she looked like us. She had your nose and my eyes and…" He turns his head and looks out at the snow filled neighborhood around us. "I know it's crazy to think that she was ours but fuck Quinn." He runs his hands tiredly over his head and it's so unbelievably quiet between us. He finally looks up at me and nods almost unnoticeably. "Thank you."

I let out a strangled laugh through my tear filled eyes. "What for?"

"I was always still kinda mad at you that I never got the chance to see her. Even though you said it was so hard, I still wanted to ya know?" I nod and he looks back down at his hands, squeezing them together to try and warm them up. "But seeing that little girl… it was almost easier wondering."

I wonder if anyone else has ever really seen or experienced this; the exact moment where you see a boy turn into a man.

I smile sadly at him and then throw my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. I leave a chaste kiss on his cheek before I realize something. I think I love Puck.

Not necessarily the 'Oh-my-gosh-I-want-to-be-with-you-forever-Romeo-and-Juliet-love-story' and all that crap kinda love, but its there. I may not ever be in a relationship with him, it may never go past what we shared those two nights in high school and whatever the hell went on between us sophomore year (I'm not sure either of us will ever know how to describe what _that_ was), but that's okay. Because no matter what, I think I'll love Noah Puckerman. He gave me my daughter and always knows the right things to do and say (more so now since he's less of an immature asshole) and has somehow managed to look at me like I didn't ruin his life once upon a time (something I'm not sure my parents will ever accomplish).

When we pull apart I ask what his plans are for the rest of the day. "I'm just going to be hanging out until later tonight when we light the fifth candle on the menorah. We do all our traditions at night." I nod and glance back at the house where my mother's eyes widen and she drops the red curtain she'd pulled back in order to spy on me.

"Did you want to stay for our lunch? We always make a whole bunch of food," I offer and I can tell by the way his jaw settles that he doesn't think it's a good idea. "I'd really like it if you did. It's just my sister and her family, my parents, and me. I could really use someone in my corner." I smile softly and it seems to do the trick because he nods.

* * *

As I walk into the house with Puck trailing behind me, my mother sticks her head out from the kitchen. "Quinn, can I speak to you for a minute?" I nod my blonde head and tell Puck that he can put his jacket on one of the free hooks by the door.

I walk into the kitchen to find that my sister isn't helping like she was earlier. Instead she's nowhere to be seen. "I hope its okay that I invited Noah for dinner," I say wearily as my mother pours herself a glass of red wine.

She shakes her head, the clip keeping her French twist in place shining in the kitchen light. "He's not welcome here."

"Why not," I pout, going over to the stove and stirring the pot of mashed potatoes. "We have more than enough food…"

"You know why he's not allowed here Quinn," she says, her voice low before she takes a sip of her wine.

"No, I don't Mom. Would you care to enlighten me?" When I turn around she's right in front of me, wine glass clutched tightly in her hand. Her other hand grabs my arm tightly and for the first time in my life, I think I'm afraid of my mother.

"Did you think that your dirty little secret wouldn't escape the walls of McKinley High?" Her blue eyes search mine and I swallow hard. I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. "Your father may not know the truth, I wouldn't let you break his heart _again, _but I do. And I will not let that boy sit at our dinner table on _Christmas_ of all days. He is not allowed in this house."

Someone clears their throat from the doorway and we both look over to see my father with his arm around Puck's shoulder. My mom drops my arm out of shock and neither of us can stop our jaws from hanging open. "Quinnie, why did you never introduce me to this boy," my father asks, patting Puck on the shoulder before walking into the kitchen. "He definitely knows his football." My dad's grinning and I don't think he chose to see my mom's hand on me when they were in the doorway. He starts sniffing around the stove and my mom tries to shoo him away and I pick this moment to escape the tensest conversation I've ever had with my mother.

I grab Puck's arm and pull him into the hallway. "Are you okay," he asks, looking down at my arm where the redness is fading. I nod and then tell him that my mother knows. I look up and see his confused face. It takes a second but then his face relaxes and his eyebrows shoot up in alarm. "I don't think I should be here then."

I shake my head. "My dad doesn't know though, and much to everyone's surprise, he loves you."

He laughs. "Dads never like me."

"Maybe you've never given dads a reason to like you before," I say playfully, arching my eyebrow in question. He doesn't look amused and I put my hand on his shoulder softly. "Look, this won't be that bad. But if you want to go then you should." He sighs and rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

"Can I bail if things get really awkward?" I smile and nod.

* * *

I sit with my back against the wooden headboard, book open flat in my lap. I push my reading glasses higher on the bridge of my nose, only to have them slip a little once again. I let out an aggravated sigh and then shut the book. "It's not fair," I say to no one in particular. "They print everything in the smallest size possible and then don't include vision at the health center on campus. College ruins eyes, the least they could do is throw in a good optometrist." I take the black framed glasses off my face and toss them on top of the closed book.

"You look hot with your glasses, stop complaining." I look up and see Noah come in from the adjoining bathroom. I smile softly and scoot closer to my edge of the small bed.

We're crammed into his childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve a few years down the line. After this break, we have one last semester and then that's it. We're done with school and the two hours separating us for the better part of the week. He sits down and I roll inward with his added weight but it works out for the best. The bed is supposedly a full but somehow we both either end up nearly falling off or on top of each other.

He doesn't really complain about the latter.

"So, what kind of family discomfort do you think we can look forward to tomorrow," he asks as I settle my head on his chest.

I sigh. "Well, last year when my mom blew up and told everyone at the table in the middle of prayer that you were the one who ruined me. She threw a bottle of wine at you and my dad almost threw you out. I honestly don't think we can top that kind of discomfort." He laughs softly and I find myself tracing invisible patterns on his white thermal shirt. "Actually, I can't believe my parents actually invited us back. Think maybe they forgot?"

He laughs again. "Fat chance. That's like my mom forgetting you're not Jewish." I smile. I love Mrs. Puckerman with all my heart and she really is kind to me. It's just that every Christmas and Hanukkah she tries to get me to switch teams. "Tomorrow's definitely gonna be interesting though." I nod and then look up at him, my chin on his chest.

"Do I really look 'hot' with my glasses on," I ask innocently and he smiles.

"I've never seen you look more gorgeous."

* * *

I really didn't think we were going to be able to top what happened last year.

I was clearly wrong.

My parents barely look at me and when they look at Noah they glare. But he's allowed in the house so I suppose it's a start.

I help my mom silently in the kitchen, talking to my sister more than my mother. The two of us are in the middle of laughing about my sister's latest pregnancy craving when the blonde woman who birthed us interrupts. "Did you have to bring him back here?"

I pour dressing over the salad and begin mixing it as I look my mother straight in the eye. "Yes _mother_. I'm dating him. What was I going to say? Stay at your mothers?"

"That's another thing," she says, pushing back a stray hair that's fallen from her perfect up do. "You stay with him when you visit now. What about us Quinn? What about _God_?"

I know what she's implying.

My shoulders droop and my sister makes up an excuse about hearing Dad call her. "Yes I stay with him because his family doesn't make me feel like I should still be ashamed of myself. And they don't hate me because I got pregnant at 16." My mother's mouth opens then and I put my hand up to stop her. "Don't. Just because you refuse to accept it doesn't mean it didn't happen. I made a mistake. I was 16 and I had sex and I got pregnant and I had a beautiful baby girl. God forgave me and you say that you have but you haven't. And you probably never will and I've come to accept that. But here I am, 22 years old and you still assume that I'll make that mistake again. That just because I stay over at Noah's, we're having sex. Well, news flash Mom, we're not."

I look back down at the salad, and continue to toss it. "So _please_, just let this whole mess go so we can actually enjoy Christmas this year."

I don't see her face, my blonde hair falling into my face and working like a curtain that I can hide behind. But I'm not the one hiding, she is.

She walks out of the kitchen and disappears until the timer for the turkey goes off.

* * *

My dad's not glaring anymore. As a matter of fact, he looks halfway pissed and halfway ecstatic. I'm not sure if I should be scared.

But then my dad stands up for a toast after our prayer (something he usually saves until we're almost done with our plates) and I know that something's up. He doesn't say much, just that he's glad we're all here despite everything (he looks at me when he says that) and that he loves us all very much. He looks at Noah and nods.

He pulls his hand out of mine when he stands up, pushing his chair away from the table. "So, um, I know that this has always been a very special day for you guys, which by the way, so sorry about ruining last year," he begins, and I twist the cloth napkin in my lap nervously. Where the hell was he going with this? "And I would just like to thank you all for welcoming me into your home despite everything." He swallows hard, wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks. I bring my hand up and slide it to his. He looks down and smiles. I give it a small squeeze and he glances over at my dad again, once more receiving a curt nod.

I arch an eyebrow and look up at my boyfriend (is it weird that I still get all warm inside when I say that?). "And I'm really glad that I could do this for Quinn in front of you all." My eyebrows scrunch together and then it happens. He drops my hand and scoots his chair further back and then gets down on one knee. "Quinn Fabray, I know that we've never really had it easy. We had a pretty rough start, if what we had could be considered a start of something. And it's been hard being with you but not getting to see you everyday and that's why I want to spend the rest of my life being with you." He clears his throat and I can barely comprehend it when he pulls the small black box out of his pocket and opens it in front of me. "I love you Quinn and I have since high school so would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Never in all my years did I ever imagine my proposal to be like this. As a child, it was always elaborate (probably at a country club party or something) with a bunch of people there and dozens of flowers and a ring with a diamond the size of my fist. As I grew older it became more realistic but then after the baby, I stopped imagining. But now, here I am with my family, the family who took me back, on Christmas my final year of college and the boy I started a new family with is proposing to me. My hands start to shake and tears fill my eyes and I glance over at my father quickly.

He's smiling a small little smile and gosh, Noah's done everything right somehow. He's gotten my father's approval (which let's face it, after what happened last year is a Christmas miracle in itself) and he's done it in front of the people who mean the most to me (minus his mother and sister of course) and suddenly all those dreams I had as a kid seem stupid. Because _this,_ this is perfect.

"Of course," I say like it's the most obvious thing in the world and I really can't stop myself from crying. My mother's probably upset because she really hasn't gotten past anything just yet but I don't care. I don't care that my father is happy despite himself or that my sister and her family think that this is sweet. All I care about right now is hugging the daylights out of Noah Puckerman and kissing him until my lips hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello everyone! I hope everyone has been enjoying the new year! So it's kinda late where I'm at and this probably hasn't been proofread to the best of my ability but I just wanted to get this last chapter up! I am insanely nervous about it and I've been struggling since New Year's Eve as to weather I wanted to give this a happy or sad ending and didn't make up my mind till last night. I also feel like this whole chapter just restates the same things, but I feel like that worked for a chapter like this... Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy (and don't think I've gone crazy ;) )!

* * *

I roll over in bed, careful not to wake the man slumbering next to me. His eyes move feverishly underneath his eyelids, an almost smile on his face. This is the man that I love.

But at the same time, he sort of makes me doubt myself.

I gave away our daughter because well, we couldn't raise her and the idea of Noah and I ever becoming a couple was a far off notion. But here we are, over ten years down the line and we're married. And we live in a beautiful apartment and we're trying to start our own family…

But we already have started a family. We have a little girl out there (who actually isn't that little anymore). Had I known that down the line, I would end up with Noah Puckerman and that I'd be so unbelievably happy, I don't think I would have given her away. No, I take that back. I **know** I wouldn't have given her away. It's not fair. I know that our lives would have been drastically different had I kept her and that the paths we've chosen wouldn't have been the same. But knowing that I now have this sort of happiness without my daughter… I don't know. I feel like we could've been happy, all three of us.

I roll over again because I'll drive myself crazy thinking about this.

I try to fall asleep because I am so unbelievably tired but I can't. It is _freezing_. I really think that both of us have gone soft in this California weather. It's only 40 something degrees outside which, yes is very cold, but nothing compared to back home. Still, I shiver frantically as I get up to go into the bathroom. The white tile is cold against my bare feet and I run my hand through my hair tiredly. I pee and when I wipe, there's blood on the toilet paper.

I groan and I'm apparently not too tired to feel the immense sadness creeping through my body.

We've been trying since I was 26 and now I sit here on a cold winter's night at the age of 31 and I'm still not pregnant. It was _so_ easy the first time. But now… now we've been trying so hard and I'm always left with ruined underwear as a cruel reminder of what I don't have. Sometimes I think its God punishing me. That the decision I made was the wrong one and he's only paying me back now.

Noah pushes the door open, his eyes squinting when the light of the bathroom hits him. He frowns and it's then I realize I'm crying. "Why couldn't it have been different?" He raises an eyebrow and I wave my hand in the air. He likely doesn't think about our daughter the way I do and I understand that. Sometimes though, I wish that it were easy to talk about. Even now, after all these years, it's hard. Lumps form in throats when the thought of speaking of her aloud enters minds. She's a taboo subject that when spoken of now will likely make me break.

When we both get back to bed, I curl into his welcoming arms. "I don't think I can keep doing this," I whisper and he drops a kiss on my forehead.

"In the morning, we'll talk about what our options are okay?" I nod against his chest.

* * *

I jump on to the bed, hands hitting his chest. "Noah! Noah, wake up," I shout, shoving him frantically.

"What the hell Quinn?" He tries to roll over, hiding his head in his pillow. "It's 8 am on a Saturday. What are you even doing up?"

I straddle his back and bend down to whisper in his ear. "We got the call Mr. Puckerman."

"What call?"

"_The_ call." His head shoots up and I almost fall off the bed when he moves to get up.

We're in my parents' house and after three years of going through the adoption process, someone's called. Someone wants us to have their baby. We're going to be parents. "We're going to be parents," I shout, a smile erupting on my face.

We're going to be _parents_. God, I love how that sounds.

Noah puts his hand up to silence my bouncing and takes my hands into his. "Don't get too excited Quinn. This has happened before. Remember, just because they like us doesn't mean they'll choose us."

I shake my head. "But Laura said that this girl took one look at our book, her first book mind you, and said that we were the ones." We'd been working through two adoption agencies. One back home and one here in Ohio. And between the two we've met a handful of people who all ultimately decided that they'd rather give their baby to someone else.

After almost a year of rejection and eight years of trying on our own (two of those being spent trying to be approved for adoption), I can't help but get excited about this one. There's just this great feeling inside of me that's telling me this will be the one.

* * *

Before we walk into the restaurant we chose to meet in, I make sure that both of us look perfect. I smooth out Noah's shirt and make sure that my now shorter hair is in place. "Remember, if this doesn't follow through, it's not the end of the world." I nod my head. "I love you." I smile and go on to my tiptoes so that I can leave a quick peck on his lips.

"I love you too." I take a huge breath of air as Noah laces his fingers through mine, opening the door of the modest restaurant. I spot Laura, our adoption agent, in the corner and she waves us over. We walk over hand in hand and when we finally face the girl who wants us to take her baby, I think I'm going to faint.

Brown curly hair that's so light it could be a dirty blonde. Her eyes are dark too and all around, she looks like a nice girl, save for her extended chest and stomach. She's no more than 16 and my cross lies against her chest.

My knees give out just a bit and Noah has to catch me a little, helping me down in my seat. "Are you alright," the girl asks while Laura looks at me with worried eyes.

I place a fake smile on my face and nod. "I'm Noah." My husband extends his hand to the girl and I don't think he's realized it yet. They shake hands and I notice his eyes flicker to the gold necklace. His jaw tenses.

"I'm Caroline."

She turns to me, her hand still extended from when Noah shook it. I stupidly stare at it for a moment before putting my small hand into hers. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I nod again, rubbing my lips together. "Just, nerves I suppose," I say, my voice unusually quiet. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking, why did you choose us?" I can't stop looking at her. She has my nose, the same curve of my lips and Noah's eyes. Does she even realize that when she looks at us that she may as well be looking into a fucking mirror?

She smiles politely (God, it's just like his smile) and takes a sip of water. "Well, I don't know. Just something about you guys popped out. You're both originally from Ohio and in your book it said that you've known each other since high school. I figure that anyone who can stay with the same person since high school has enough love in their hearts to welcome someone who isn't necessarily their own flesh and blood." Oh, how wrong you are sweetheart. "Plus, it does help that you guys sort of look like me." She rubs her belly and it's only now that it hits me that not only am I seeing my daughter for the first time since I gave her away, but that she's inadvertently asking me to raise my grandchild.

Noah turns to look at me, eyes red. He holds on to my hand tighter and I let out a shaky breath. "How do your parents feel about this? And… what about the baby's father?" I have no idea how he's managing to speak right now. But I suppose that's what I love about him. He always finds the words when I'm rendered speechless.

"My parents are not thrilled. The only way I'm being able to stay at home is by giving the baby up for adoption. And the dad?" She lets out a heavy sigh. "I haven't seen him since I told him about the bun in the oven."

"Do you want to give it away?" The question leaves my mouth without me realizing it. I want to stop looking at her, stop staring at her because it makes my heart grow heavy and crack, but I can't stop. She's here and it seems that she hasn't been given the life I want for her, the one where she became more than what I was.

She bites her bottom lip, hand running over her stomach. "It doesn't really matter does it?"

I wonder if Noah can feel my nails creating crescent moons in his hand or if he's as numb as I am. "It does matter…" I trail off and she's starting to look worried. "Don't do this because someone is making you. If you honestly feel like you want to keep her or that you _should_ keep her, then do it. Don't be afraid of what the outcome is going to be." I feel like I should've told myself these exact same words sixteen years ago. Laura looks at me as if I'm crazy and I suppose I do sound a little crazy (afterall, I just made the assumption that she's carrying a little baby girl, just like I had). Who in their right mind would tell a teenage girl to forget all about the fact that her parents will kick her out and just keep her baby?

I duck my head down and close my eyes tight. "I'm sorry," I say when I look back up at her. I glance over at Noah and I really just want to get out of here.

"Do you think we could meet up again at a later date?" He opens his mouth as if to offer a useable excuse but nothing comes to mind and he shuts his mouth again. "We'll take a look at your background and all that and then we can set up another meeting."

She looks crushed. "Is it me?" Both Noah and I raise our eyebrows in confusion and our daughter continues. "Look, I want give you guys my baby. I'm not considering anyone else and I truly feel like you guys can give her the best life possible. There won't be any drama with that father because he really could careless and like I said, my parents are supporting this. I swear that I'm not a fuck up. This," she says, rubbing her stomach, "is the only flaw in my life. I get good grades and I do a million extracurricular activities. The father isn't the greatest but he's pretty and is a decent guy when it doesn't come to baby drama." She stops to talk a breath and grabs all of her background information, thrusting it towards us. "He doesn't have any major diseases or illnesses that run in his family besides diabetes, but really, who doesn't have diabetes now? And I'm afraid I can't tell you if I carry anything because I was adopted myself and I don't know anything about their background. But as far as I know I don't have any deadly diseases and just…"

She trails off and takes another breath. "Just _please_ take him. I really don't care if you don't like me but he's a blank slate. He won't become anything like me because he'll have you guys to raise him in the best way possible. You'll love him as much as I already do…" She looks like she's trying not to cry. Tears are swelling in her eyes and her bottom lip is quivering.

I want to help her. I want to pull her into my arms and hug her like a mother should hug her daughter but I can't. I can't whisper those reassuring words and I'm not sure I can do this.

Noah shakes his head. "We like you Caroline," he says softly and I inhale sharply when he says her name. "We just really need to take a step back and evaluate if we can do this." He rises to his feet and I follow him, nails still clawing into his palm. He sends Laura an apologetic smile and leads me out of the restaurant.

When we get back into his car, I break down violently. I feel like I can't breathe, that there's a weight on my chest that can't be lifted and I have to close my eyes to stop from feeling dizzy. Noah pulls me closer awkwardly, the center consol digging into my stomach as I struggle to get as close to him as possible. I hear him sob in my ear as my tears soak through his shirt. "She was so _beautiful_," I whisper amidst my hiccups and sobs. I pull back and put my hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the silently falling tears. "She was our baby." He rests his forehead on mine and we stay like that silently for ten minutes until we're both okay enough to even start driving back home.

* * *

I'm lying on the floor with my eyes closed when my dad comes in. "Quinnie? You alright," he asks, sitting down on the edge of my childhood bed. He looks down at me and I open my eyes, taking in the sight of his aged and tired face, his graying hair combed into an almost boyish style. I shake my head. "Did the girl not work out?" I bite my bottom lip, my chapstick hitting my taste buds. My face contorts both from the tears clouding my eyes and the disgusting taste of the product on my lips.

"She was perfect," I say honestly, breathlessly, and my father's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. I squeeze my hands together tightly as they lay on my abdomen before I turn on to my side, eyes never leaving my father. "I know that you don't like to talk about it, that you like pretending it didn't happen…" My voice trails off as my dad's back straightens, his eyes hardening slightly. "But would you have done the same thing, kicked me out and all, if you had known what you do now?" His eyebrows move in confusion again and I take a deep breath before continuing. "I don't think I would have. As much as I love you and Mom," I'm not sure how true that statement is if I'm being honest with myself. My relationship with them both has been strained since I was sixteen years old, "I don't think I would have given her away. I wouldn't have pushed away Noah…"

I blink, a trail of tears escaping my eyes, my make up caught in its wet path. My father almost looks at me disapprovingly. "But Quinn… you probably wouldn't have your degree or be as happy as you are now… You wouldn't be in this exact place."

I smile softly. "I know. But I'd likely still have Noah and I'd me a mom and if we were all even just a fraction of how happy we are now, I think I'd be okay… I think I'd prefer it over this."

My dad is silent for a while before finally asking, "Where is all this coming from?"

I take a deep breath. "The girl who wants to give us her baby… she's _our_ baby." His jaw locks and I shut my eyes because I don't want to see the look on his face. "And Daddy, her life would have been so different if I hadn't given her away and she looked so much like me and Noah and she was just such a beautiful girl…" I open my eyes when I feel my dad's hand on my shoulder. He's moved to the ground, now sitting Indian style in front of me. "And I hate that I feel like this is God's way of punishing me…"

My father shakes his head and takes my hand into his. "Have you thought about the fact that it may be His way of helping her? That the reason He never blessed you with another," I'm surprised he's acknowledging her now, "child was because He knew she'd need you?" I scoot closer to my father, my blonde head resting in his lap. "You can save her sweetheart…"

I lift my head and open my mouth to protest. This whole situation is so weird and confusing and so much good could come from this but it could also blow up in our faces. The older man puts up his hand and silences me before I utter a word. "Would you love that baby any different Quinn?" I shake my head. "Then what are your reservations?"

My father is a brilliant man but he just doesn't get it.

* * *

Noah comes back from his mother's to find me in the same spot. "My dad thinks we should do it," I say quietly and I almost want to snort. We can't do this… right? He shuts the door behind him, taking his shirt off once we're hidden away from the eyes of my parents. He lowers himself to the ground, hovering over me like he's doing a push up until our legs tangle together and he rests against my body, keeping his weight off my chest.

"What do you think we should do," he asks me carefully, brown eyes studying my face, like he's looking for another similarity between our daughter and me. I raise my hands to trace his features and smile softly.

"She looked more like you." He shakes his head.

"She was a perfect mix," he says as he lowers his head down, leaving a soft innocent kiss on my lips. When he pulls back he sighs and then finds my eyes again, eyebrow raised in question.

I shrug the best I can. "My dad thinks this was all planned. That we can't have more babies so we could save our first one when she needs us the most…"

"Do you believe that?"

I shrug again. "It'd be nice to believe that instead of believing that God's just been punishing me… but… I don't know. The whole situation seems so surreal." I run a hand over his head, nails scratching through his buzzed hair. "What about you? What do you think?"

He looks scared which probably why he leaves a trail of kisses along my jaw and down the side of my extended neck before answering me, voice quiet and rough in my ear. "I don't think we could raise him without being either grateful to her every day or without feeling like we've taken away the one thing that she really loved… like we've given her the years you wish you could've taken back…"

I nod and wrap my arms around him, pulling him down so that his weight rests on me. Tears pool in the sides of my eyes as a lump forms in my throat. She already loves her baby, just like I loved her. I can't let her make the same mistake I did… "We can't do this huh? No matter how great it would be." Noah nods against me and I exhale loudly as the tears come in steady streams.

Kisses mix with salty tears and my hair as my husband cries against my neck. "We're gonna be okay though babe… we're helping our baby girl and we'll be okay," he says as he lifts his head, his tears now falling on my already wet cheeks.

I nod and pull his lips down to mine.

We'll be okay…

* * *

She wants us to meet at her home. I don't think this is a good idea and Laura tells her it's against the rules. But she puts her foot down (or so I imagine during our weird three way phone conversation) and says that we have to meet at her house or we'll just have to wait until the baby is born to meet up the next time. I bite my lip when she says this and then let out a breath. "We can meet at her house so long as we don't get in trouble Laura," I say to the other woman on the line, my fingers nervously touching the pen that lies in front of me.

Laura lets out an exasperated breath. "Neither of this is to get back to the agency alright?" My daughter and I swear to not breathe a word. We all agree that tomorrow we'll meet up, after Caroline gets off school and while her parents are still at work.

This is probably for the best because really, there's a whole lot I'd like to tell the people I chose to raise my daughter.

* * *

Noah and I nervously step into the large suburban home, Laura in front of us, digging through her briefcase for the papers she's had drawn up because she thinks that we're taking this baby. I glance over at Noah and silently ask him if he'd like to talk to her first. He shakes his head and I turn to face Caroline whose smiling face only makes this harder. "Could I talk to you alone for a minute?" The younger girl nods and walks (waddles is a more appropriate word. She must be nearly seven months…) into the kitchen.

"Would you like something to drink," she asks politely as I sit down on a barstool. I shake my head and smile at her softly.

"I'm fine. Why don't you just come sit down," I pull out the barstool next to me and she looks at me like I'm crazy. I realize what I've done and mutter an apology before getting up and walking with her to the dinner table, the chairs much lower so that the pregnant girl can sit down. I like my lips before drawing my bottom lip into my mouth, nervously chewing on the skin.

"It's a hell of a habit isn't it?" I drop my lip and raise an eyebrow. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth just as I had done and then lets it go free. "I do that a lot. I thought I'd make my lip bleed I was chewing on it non stop the day we met." I bit my lip out of habit, trying to fight of the smile that's trying to creep on my face.

"Caroline, we can't take your son." I look at her and notice how her back straightens, jaw tightens and her hands squeeze into fists. "As much as we would really, _really_ want to, we talked it over and we don't think it would be for the best." Her bottom lip trembles and I don't even think she realizes that she's crying. I place my hand on top of hers, squeezing it gently. "And I really wish that I could give you a better explanation but it's not my place. Just know that Noah and I would have loved your son with all our hearts… that we would have loved to do this for you, but we can't." She stares at our touching hands and shakes her head, short hair swishing from side to side.

"So what was it? Was it me? Was it something I said?" I don't want to lie to her. It was her, she was our daughter. It was something she said, her omission of love for the boy growing and moving beneath her stomach's surface. But I can't break her heart anymore than I already have.

"No, of course not sweetheart," I say softly. "You're perfect. Everything you said was perfect… And you know what? Maybe you should talk about this with your parents again… talk about keeping your son. I know you want to."

She shakes her head again, voice cracking when she says, "I _can't_ keep him."

"You're so wrong… You can keep him. And I won't lie to you. It's going to be hard. It'll be hard doing it on your own and maybe without your parents' approval. But I don't think you've thought about what it'll be like after you've given him away. Things don't go back to normal. The bridges that were burned or left rattled by this don't mend, they just break. People think it gets easier but it doesn't… if anything it gets harder. I mean, do you think that you can live with the fact that you'll never know what he looks like? Never know it he got your hair color, or your nose, or the shape of your lips? Never know if he's safe or if we somehow fucked up his life? These are all things that when you're pregnant you barely scratch the surface of… It's not till you're alone that it hits you." I gasp for air like I've just been held underwater and lift my hand off hers, instinctively grasping the cross that hangs from my neck.

She stares at me, looks as though she's been given a puzzle with all the pieces laid out and numbered for her, giving her the answer as how to solve it. Her eyes focus on my hand and cross before she glances down to the cross I gave her the day I gave her away. She raises a shaking hand to her face, fingers outlining her eyebrow before resting her head against her fingers. "I'm so sorry Caroline," I tell her honestly and stand up quickly, walking back into the living room as my hands move fast to wipe away my fallen tears.

Noah's lips graze my forehead when he stands, walking into the kitchen I just left. Laura stares at me as I sink into the couch. "You're… you're not taking him," she asks like she's just been told I know the meaning to life. I shake my head and she looks down at all the papers she's laid out. "But, she's perfect for you Quinn… this was the perfect situation."

I can't say it. Can't admit to this woman who is now just disappointed with me that I just had to break my daughter's heart in order to save her from herself.

The front door opens unexpectedly and both Laura and I look up in surprise. "What are _you_ doing here," the woman asks, eyes wide as she points at me. I stand up and walk around the couch to stand in front of the woman I've only met two times.

I stick out my hand. "I'm the woman who was going to adopt your _grandson_," I say with special focus on the last word, it hanging heavy in the air between us. She gulps and glances over at Laura before returning her gaze to me.

"Where's Caroline?"

I motion to the kitchen with my head. "My husband's talking to her…" Laura sits clueless on the couch, looking between us as if we'll let the secret spill soon enough.

"Does she…" The older woman trails off and I nod before shrugging.

"I'm not sure. I think she does though. She's a smart girl."

Suddenly the woman, I really wish I could remember her name, turns to Laura and asks her politely to leave. She's no longer needed here since I'm not adopting the baby. "I'm not really allowed to-" The woman glares at the adoption agent and Laura shuts her mouth before gathering the wasted paper and walking around us, shutting the door behind her. "You're not taking him," the woman asks again and I glare at her.

"You gave her an ultimatum?" My voice is louder and angrier than I had anticipated.

"She's sixteen years old. She cannot raise a baby. You of all people should know that," she tries to ration with me but I shake my head.

"I _could've_ raised her. I could have loved her. I could have made it work," I tell her as she glances over my shoulder at the empty doorway to the kitchen. "I told you when I met you that I didn't want to do it. That I didn't want to give her away but I felt like I _had_ to. And yeah, I suppose my life turned out alright. My parents talk to me again, I went to college, and married my husband. But I would trade it all in if I had the chance to do it over again. Because that year after I had her, the year I was _completely_ alone wasn't worth this. None of it was worth it."

"You can't possibly think that she could really do it, that she could really raise that child. She's a child herself!" The woman throws her hands up in the air, shaking her head at me.

"And in three months she's going to be a mother too. Even if she gives him to some other family, she'll still be a mother and she'll have nothing to show for it." More tears somehow escape my eyes and then it all just starts pouring out. "I chose you and your husband because I thought that you would love her no matter what. That you would give her the greatest life and not make her feel like she's done something she should be ashamed of. That you would embrace her in her darkest times and always do what's best for her."

"Keeping that baby is not what's best for her! You are not her mother, I am! I know what is best for my daughter," the woman yells, words slicing through me like the blades of a knife.

Noah clears his throat from the doorway and both of us turn to look at him. Caroline stands next to him, his arm wrapped around her shoulders carefully. My daughter looks at me cautiously and then looks at her mother with confusion. "I want to keep him," she mutters quietly and the woman next to me inhales sharply.

"Cara," I wrinkle my nose at the nickname, "you're sixteen. This is a mistake."

She nods and then takes a step forward, Noah's arm dropping to his side. "And you always told me that I was the happiest thing that ever happened to you… something that God sent to you to help fix someone else's mistake." I meet Noah's eyes and frown. "I was given to you to make both your life and my birth parents' lives better… Momma, I don't see my life getting better if I give him away. He's not a mistake. I may not have planned this but I could never call him a mistake… I can't imagine seeing his face and holding him and then just passing him off to someone else's arms…" She's crying again, eyes closing as uneven streams trail down flawless cheeks.

The woman shakes her head. "I just… I… You're _sixteen_." The woman looks around at all of us and the runs her hand through her hair angrily. "Please get out of my house. I need to speak with my daughter." Noah nods and walks toward me but I stay rooted in my spot. I stare at Caroline who's just barely opened her eyes again. I want to tell her to come live with us. That we'll take care of her and our grandson and we could be a happy family (the one we could have been all along). But this isn't a fairytale. This is reality and in reality, I can't do anything to save this girl anymore.

Noah's hands rest on my arms, pulling me softly towards the front door. I don't want to leave her here… I don't want to leave either of them here. But I allow Noah to help me walk out of the house and down the driveway and into our car. "She wasn't a mistake… She has to know she wasn't a mistake," I say just as I'm about to buckle my seatbelt, letting the belt slide back into its slot when I let it go. Noah grabs my hand and keeps me in my place.

"She knows she's not Quinn," he says softly.

I shake my head. "Tay-Sachs," I mutter, Rachel Berry popping into my mind after all these years. "The baby could have Tay-Sachs. You're Jewish Noah, that means she's Jewish and-" He puts a finger to my lips.

"She knows about it and the baby is in the clear. When you gave her up for adoption, you told Mrs. Kaback that I was Jewish and to watch out for Tay-Sachs," he tells me, reaching around to pull my seatbelt across me, buckling me into the car.

"We have to help her," I plead with him and he shakes his head sadly.

"I want to help her too babe, but we can't. She's not ours to raise…" He starts the car and we drive in silence for a while.

"Did she tell you that she knew," I ask as we get on the freeway and he nods, eyes never leaving the road. "Did you tell her that we love her?"

He nods. "I told her that she was the best thing that ever happened to us. That I loved her before I even knew she was a she and that giving her away was the hardest, darkest moment of your life." He swallows hard, right hand searching for mine in my lap. Our fingers lace together, his hands warming up my freezing hands. "And I told her that if she ever needed anything, that we'd be there for her when no one else was…"

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